Of Dinosaurs and Chocolate Sauce
by Space-facade
Summary: In which Connor suffers torture by parrot, the Weather Gods have a plan, and I get a wee bit carried away describing Wet!NickandStephen.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the second appearance of Solly the NotParrot. The backstory is in 'No Good Can Come From A Talking Parrot' if anyone wants to know :) Reviews make me dance loudly and sing. Hint :)**

Of Dinosaurs and Chocolate Sauce - Part 1

Connor knew it was going to be a bad day when, at six o'clock, the parrot dropped a butter bowl on his head.

Ever since Abby had given the refugee bird a home, the bloody creature had been finding more and more entertaining ways to wake him up in the morning. At first it had just been a manic squawk in his ear, or a pinch on the nose with the claws, but gradually the parrot had started exercising what brains it had and was becoming more and more inventive. This latest craze of dropping food on his head was getting old really really quickly.

He couldn't even moan to Abby. She would just blame him for dropping the china butter dish, and forcing them to use a plastic bowl instead. Solly had never been able to use butter as a weapon before, being nowhere near strong enough to pick up the damn dish.

Having shifted the upturned bowl from his head onto the bedside table, Connor wiped several globs of yellow goo out of his fringe using a handily placed tissue, and glared at the multi-coloured bird, which was parading around on a rafter above, fluffing his feathers. If he hadn't been a parrot, Connor would have sworn his chest was puffed up. He looked thoroughly, completely pleased with himself.

Groaning he swung himself out of bed, and clumped down the stairs, in the direction of the bathroom, yawning widely. He was almost to the bathroom door when Abby went whizzing past – with an unreasonable amount of energy for ten past six in the morning – and, with a cheerful, and somewhat smug cry of 'Morning Conn!' vanished into the bathroom.

Taking two steps forward, he leant his head against the bathroom door, let his body slump, and groaned. The next second he was on the floor, looking up at a startled Abby, as the door gave way in front of him. She raised an eyebrow.

'Was leaning on the door', he muttered by way of an explanation as he scrambled to his feet. Abby rolled her eyes.

'Sorry, but I just thought I saw…' she paused, eyes roving up to his fringe and forehead, 'you do! Connor, why is there butter in your eyebrows?'

He sighed.

'Solly.'

As predicted, Abby rolled her eyes again.

'It's your fault for dropping the butter dish.'

'I…' Connor opened his mouth to argue, but didn't get further than one syllable before the door re-slammed, connecting with the frame about a centimetre from his nose. He rocked back slightly, the sheer force of the slam making him recoil, and then, as he heard the sound of the shower, decided there was nothing for it but to find a sharp stick and teach that bloody bird a lesson…

Two and a half hours later, Connor's day had not improved at all. For a start he was very firmly in the doghouse with Abby. Apparently stuffing a three hundred million year old, one-of-a-kind parrot into one leg of a pair of Star Wars boxers was **not **in any way considered appropriate behaviour.

And really, he had been hoping for a nice quiet day at the ARC, in which to try and finished his much revised (under the Professor's watchful eye) dissertation. But apparently no, the God's of fate weren't going to be that helpful because currently, he was in the Forest of Dean, sitting next to Stephen, in the mud and rain, and trying very very hard not to develop an inferiority complex.

When the anomaly detector had gone off, and shown the location to be in the Forest of Dean, there had been general sighs of relief all around. The anomaly leading to the Permian era was under permanent guard, and so there was no need for any of the team to brave what looked like a rapidly brewing storm, and troop off to fight prehistoric beasties. They had all felt very smug, the general feeling being that for once in this insane excuse for a job, they were **ahead **of the anomalies, as opposed to frantically playing catch-up.

That feeling had lasted all of ten seconds, before vanished in a puff of smoke when Stephen, radioing the SAS captain in charge of the guard over the Permian anomaly, was told that there was no anomaly open, and when he enquired as to whether the captain was sure, was rather curtly, and not all that politely informed, through an awful lot of static, that

'NoOfCourseThereIsn'tABloodyAnomalyOpenDon'tYouThinkWeWouldHaveNoticed?'

It was at this point that the team had, realising this must be a different anomaly, conceded defeat, and headed out to the cars, lugging a combination of useful equipment and sandwiches, and constantly sending suspicious glares at the overcast sky.

During the drive to the anomaly site, Connor had been feeling considerably smug. Having examined the weather and decided he didn't like the look of it that morning, he had brought a waterproof coat complete with hood, and consequently was now the only one prepared for what was probably going to be a very wet afternoon. Abby didn't own a waterproof coat, and probably thought that she could just bat her eyelashes at him, and have his (which wasn't going to happen in a million years after her astounding lack of sympathy that morning), Nick rarely noticed anything that wasn't several hundred thousand years old, or his lab assistant, and Stephen, well, Stephen probably thought he was far too pretty to be rained on. The Weather Gods probably never allowed it.

At least, that had been his opinion on Stephen several hours earlier. Now of course, squatting uncomfortably close to the man, in order to take advantage of the small protection of a tree, he knew **exactly **why Stephen had not bothered with a coat. The rain had broken around three that afternoon, as they had all sat patiently waiting for the very quiet anomaly to close. Torrential was the only word to properly describe it.

Within seconds, Abby had resembled a small, if slightly creepy looking panda, with her white hair plastered to her hair, and her eyeliner running. Connor had come to the conclusion that blond hair may be fluffy and ruffle-able looking when dry, but wet was a whole other story. Although once again, the Professor appeared to be the exception that proved the rule. A wet Nick looked, quite frankly, extremely lickable. Nick's hair was clinging to his head in dark blond strands, and straggled down his neck, water running from the end into the neck of his t-shirt. His jeans were sodden, and clung in all the right (wrong, depending on how you looked at it) places, and his t-shirt was following suit (and really, what did it say about Connor, that the hint of a stomach that it outlined only made Nick **more **attractive?). And to complete the entire ensemble were his **eyes. **God. Earlier, Nick had flicked his head, tossing numerous wet strands of hair back, and sending water droplets flying over Stephen, and his eyes had looked the brightest blue Connor had ever seen on anyone. He was absolutely certain it wasn't appropriate for a student to lust after his Professor, but he had no control over his mind, and right now it was firmly handcuffing itself to the gutter.

And matters hadn't helped when Stephen had shoved Nick in retaliation (although Connor couldn't see why, those few drops of water had hardly had any real effect, considering Stephen was already sodden), Nick had swung round, ended up off balance, and the pair had ended the scuffle, collapsed against a tree, both laughing. They had broken apart fairly quickly, but Connor's unruly mind was suggesting that they had both held on a little too long, and was supplying very high quality film of more wet male frolicking.

And now, well now, they had retreated to the thickest covering of trees, and were each cowering under the largest tree possible, taking advantage of the minimal shelter. Until Connor had gotten bored, and wandered over to squat next to Stephen, and ask his opinion on how long this anomaly was going to remain open, because he was taking this whole thing seriously and all, but he **really **needed to work on his dissertation. And really, this action had been a serious mistake.

He had already spent long enough perving over a wet Nick, he hadn't really taken the time to look at Stephen. And now up close, he didn't really have any option but to look. And what a view it was. It was a running joke, particularly amongst the SAS soldiers, that Stephen's jeans couldn't **get **any tighter. Well, that was all wrong. His jeans, and t-shirt, drenched through, now clung so tightly that absolutely everything was outlined, including the play of his muscles, as he shifted position. His wet dark hair stuck up in tufts, where he had been running his fingers through it (and Connor wasn't entirely sure that **Nick **hadn't done that a few times too – his main view had been blocked by the back of a truck), and water was running down his neck in a way that made Connor think, in all too much detail, about licking those droplets off and tasting Stephen's skin into the bargain. Stephen's eyes were just as ridiculously blue as Cutter's and they were framed by long, dark eyelashes to which raindrops were also clinging and…

'Ungh?' **Shit**, Stephen was talking to him. The other man was raising an eyebrow, lips curling in perpetual amusement and…

'Connor!' And Stephen was **talking **to him.

'Oh, um yeah?'

'Have you heard a word I've been saying?' Stephen had been talking for **some time**?

'Um, sure. You were just saying, about the uh…anomaly, and…stuff.'

Stephen rolled his eyes. A mantra was playing through Connor's head that went something like 'Don'tLetHimHaveRealisedIWasWatchingHimDon'tLetHimHaveRealisedIWasWatchingHim' and he was praying, praying, praying that Stephen wouldn't look down, because his upper half might be ensconced in an anorak and fairly dry, but there was no such thing down below, and his jeans were doing almost as good a job of outlining as Stephen's.

Of course, today had already proven that the Gods hated him, and seriously, why even stop at Just Faintly Embarrassing? Nope, Connor could feel himself turning progressively scarlet, as Stephen's eyes flickered downwards and a smirk spread over his face, and he whizzed onto Complete Humiliation. And then Stephen stood up, stretched, and placing his belt at Connor's nose level (**on purpose, the bastard!)**, before wandering off in Nick's general direction, a comment thrown back over his shoulder.

'I wonder if Nick knows you've been watching?'

Connor buried his head in his hands, cheeks burning, arriving neatly at the Dig A Hole And Bury Myself stage and quite determined not to look at Nick. Unfortunately he found himself unable to **not **take a glance and got the shock of his life when he raised his head to see Stephen wrap his arms around Nick from behind, shooting a look over his shoulder that could only be described as pure evil. Connor looked frantically around for Abby, before clocking that the angle to Nick's chosen tree, hid them completely from everyone's view but his. He swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away, as he watched Stephen do exactly what he had fantasised about and lean forward, licking the water away and lightly biting Nick's neck. Holy shit.

Connor could feel himself getting hard, and uttered one last prayer to Anyone Who Might Be Listening, as he arrived with a crash at Get Plastic Surgery, A Passport And Get The Hell Out Of The Country. This entire thing was insanity. Hot, awkward, hot, embarrassing, hot insanity.

Over under the tree, Stephen was just sliding one hand under Nick's sodden t-shirt, when Connor's prayer was granted. The two men jerked apart, and Connor wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, as something large, scaly, and apparently very pissed off burst through the anomaly, flapped enormous scaly wings once, and headed for the open skies…


	2. Chapter 2

**In which Ryan is impatient and all-knowing in turns, a strange Welsh man makes an appearance (I offer a cloned character of your choice if you can tell me who he is...) and I get even more carried away with Wet!Stephen and may possibly need therapy. Thank you so much to katewantstobecomeanactor, gaia-x-goddess, and the (ever-awesome) Xanthiae, for the reviews, and to the lovely people who favourited/alerted. You maketh my day. **

Part 2

Two hours later, every even vaguely lustful thought had completely fled from Connor's mind as the team stood on a large area of grassy plain, staring dismally at a distant black dot that was circling in ever increasing circles and occasionally shrieking its displeasure at the current climate. The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, but it was grey, overcast, and fairly chilly. A typical British spring really, but the pterodactyl appeared most unsatisfied.

After the creature had erupted from the anomaly, with what could be described as the best and worst timing in the world (best because it had saved Connor from a completely surreal and seriously embarrassing situation and worst because said completely surreal and seriously embarrassing situation had been the hottest thing he had experienced for a long time, if ever), and it had taken the team under a minute to figure out that they needed to catch it **now, **a conclusion that was only confirmed when a sucking sound rang through the air and the anomaly closed. It also hadn't taken a genius to work out that they had about as much chance of catching a flying dinosaur from a forest as they did of resurrecting Elvis, and so when Abby mentioned a large area of open grass a few miles to the North, they had wasted no time in packing up the equipment and setting off.

After about an hour of trudging through the forest in the rain, they had emerged onto said grassy plain. Peering through a pair of binoculars, it had taken Stephen no time at all to locate the flying reptile, soaring high over their heads, and getting worryingly close to a housing estate that they knew all too well was fairly close by. They had to catch the dinosaur, and **fast**.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done, and after an hour and a half of trying every method they could think of, from waving Connor's red waistcoat around (it had worked for the pteranodon…), to lying sandwiches out on a rock in plain view (perhaps it might be hungry…), tranquilising it ('Bloody thing won't stop **moving**' '**Yes**, Stephen, that's what they **do**'…), and finally hiding in bushes and just being very very still (this had been met by many eye rolls but no-one else had had a better idea…) But nothing worked. The pterodactyl refused to land.

So now, they were just standing in a little huddle, and praying for inspiration. On the plus side, everyone was drying out somewhat, and this was excellent news for Connor's libido, although Stephen's hair was now drying into the bed-head hair tufts, and the Professor's wasn't in much better nick but that was a minor enough detail that he could easily ignore it. Well…he could ignore it if he just didn't **look** at either of them.

'Why don't we just shoot the fucking thing?'

Captain Ryan, never the most patient of men when it came to indulging Cutter and his 'take 'em alive' method, had clearly had enough. Cutter let out a long suffering sigh.

'Because we don' know what tha' might do. Killing one a' these creatures could change the…'

'Path of evolution, I know. But we need to come up with something else that winged lizard is going to reach the housing estate and give some old dear in her garden a **very **nasty surprise.'

Cutter's face brightened. Was it inspiration?

'I'll ring Claudia. Mebbe she'll have an idea.'

Inspiration? Don't get him wrong, Connor thought Claudia was lovely, but she was a **Civil Servant**. How was that going to help them tempt a pterodactyl?

Clearly Stephen was thinking along the same lines.

'What good's that going to do, Cutter?'

'I know she isn't qualified, but another head cannae do any harm can it?' Cutter did dignify Stephen with a reply, but he was already turned away and half way through dialling whilst he answered.

And if Connor wasn't **very **much mistaken, Stephen's mouth had tightened imperceptibly at the corners, and really, who would even have thought that the endlessly composed Stephen Hart would ever feel emotions such as jealously and possessiveness? Apparently, he was capable of just as many human emotions as the rest of them when it involved a scruffy, freckled, Scottish Zoology Professor with an attitude attached. (Connor's inner voice was also pointing out that he must be studying Stephen really closely to have noticed said almost imperceptible tightening of mouth, but he summoned up another little inner voice to sit on it).

'Really?'…Mhmmm…Yeah…Okay…Well we'll give it a go. Yeah. Thanks…See you later'

The moment passed as Nick hung up the phone and turned back towards the group.

'Do we have a plan?' Ryan clearly had lost all patience now.

Nick grinned.

'We have a plan.'

There was a pause, while they all looked at him expectantly. Nick rubbed a hand over his chin.

'Does anyone…does anyone have any barbecue sauce?'

Silence.

'Um, what?' Connor thought he might as well voice what everyone else was obviously thinking. Nick smiled ruefully.

'Claudia has a friend, Welsh bloke apparently, an' he says that the only way to catch a pterodactyl is to use barbecue sauce. She says he swears by it.'

An idea struck Connor.

'Hang on, hang on a sec!' He routed through his pack, until he found what he was looking for, and brandished the bottle in the air in triumph.

'I've got **chocolate **sauce!'

Stephen's eyebrows shot up.

'The first question that springs to mind, Connor, is **why**?'

'I like it on my sandwiches sometimes.'

Stephen shook his head.

'Okay then.' He turned to Nick. 'Question is, will it work?'

Nick shrugged.

'No idea. But I doubt it. I mean, pterodactyls are **carnivores**. So unless this one has an abnormally sweet tooth…'

Time to defend his honour.

'But it can't hurt to **try**, right? I mean, it's either that or ring Lester and ask him to send us a consignment of barbecue sauce, and I really don't think he be happy to commission that.'

Nick shrugged again. Connor ignored how this movement made his t-shirt hitch up at the bottom, revealing several inches of skin. He also ignored Stephen's sudden grin.

'It can never hurt to try.'

And that was how, four hours and an awful lot of drama later, they were piling back into two cars, with the chocolate-drunk pterodactyl strapped to a trailer and heading for the Home Office.

'What,' enquired Abby, 'are we going to do with a pterodactyl? I'm not taking him home.'

Nick grinned.

'It's sorted. Apparently Claudia's Welsh friend has a boss who specialises in unusual creatures. Said he'd take him off our hands.'

'And we are going to just trust this man?'

Nick shrugged.

'If Claudia does it's enough for me.'

Ah, thought Connor, those lines appeared around Stephen's mouth again. It hadn't been a coincidence - he really did not like Claudia. He squashed the sudden urge to hug Stephen. Never thought he'd say it, but, he was almost…sweet when looking all sulky and jealous. He appeared five seconds away from full-on pouting. And Connor really didn't think he needed to see that. He had a horrible feeling that Stephen pouting may turn out to be, quite literally, irresistible.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, and, as Abby was driving, was also over relatively quickly, and with one or two near-death experiences. At the Home Office they were met by a tall, dark-haired man who was wearing a neat suit complete with tie pin, and a large black SUV. They detached the trailer, and reattached it, and that was the end of the pterodactyl saga. Really, Connor thought, if only it was always that simple.

By this time, they were all weary, and achy, and desperately in need of a hot shower and some caffeine. Most of them were still slightly damp, all of them were covered in smudges of chocolate sauce, and Connor was covered in mud into the bargain, having tripped over Ryan's foot in a slightly clumsy moment and ended up in a ditch. (Where he'd remained for the best part of five minutes until the soldier stopped laughing long enough to pull him out).

As a result, they trooped into the Home Office, slipped past Lester's office as quietly as humanely possible, and headed straight for the shower room. Connor walked at the back of the group, just behind Stephen, and was forced to avert his eyes when they went up what felt like the longest flight of stairs in history, because otherwise he might just turn into a teenage fangirl and swoon. Matters were not helped when Stephen, casually (although Connor had his suspicions), idly hooked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans, allowing Connor the perfect opportunity to not only study his long, graceful fingers, but to imagine how they might feel touching him.

By the time they had reached the shower rooms, Connor was feeling extremely hot and bothered, and his suspicions about Stephen were confirmed when the older man turned around and smiled at him, all blue eyes and innocence, holding the door open, which forced Connor to pass by him in uncomfortable proximity.

Luckily, the showers weren't communal, and Connor thanked the Powers That Be for that small mercy. But sadly his mind was still handcuffed to the gutter, and as he slipped under the hot spray, he felt himself tense instead of relax, as he heard Stephen **moan **as he did the same in the cubical next to him. Matters were not helped at all when this was followed by a distinctly Scottish sounding 'Ahhh' as Nick took possession of the cubicle on the other side.

Connor was by himself, in a private cubicle, but he felt completely and utterly surrounded. **The bastards.**

He exhaled hard, and tried to get a grip on himself. This was ridiculous. Ignoring his body's protests he turned the shower down to only luke-warm.

There was the crack of some-one stretching a joint, and a slight moan of satisfaction from Stephen's cubicle. God. Connor's mind began supplying images of wet Stephen again. Except this time it was naked, slippery, wet Stephen, stretching, hair slicked back, long fingers smoothing over his chest, lathering the soap, pausing over his nipples, pinching slightly…

Shaking his head forcefully, Connor could feel himself blushing. Jesus, he was turning into a real pervert. This was his **colleague** he was fantasising about. Just then, he heard the click of a shower door, and the slam of a locker. Ryan's voice echoed through the room.

'I'm leaving now, Hart, Professor. Don't torture Temple too much. We need him.'

The door slammed. Holy **shit**. **Ryan. Ryan. Ryan knew what was going on. **Connor could feel himself getting redder and harder in tandem. He spun the temperature dial to cold. God this entire thing was a nightmare. A horribly kinky, attractive nightmare. He couldn't decide if he wanted to wake up or not, and tried to focus on the crumb of comfort he was gaining from **things cannot get any worse**.

Could they?


	3. Chapter 3

**In which Connor plays voyeur, Abby is a traitorous friend, and I wonder wet!Stephen is appearing in everything I write at the moment. **

**Thank you so much for the reviews; Xanthaie (I love my new phone saver!!), lilygeorgia (correct answer!), ponyperson (thank you for the LOVELY feedback), katewantstobecomeanactor (Ryan is, indeed, awesome!), and gaia-x-goddess (Ahh wet!Stephen...I wouldn't worry he muddles the brains of most people. And yes, correct answer - your...uh..prize is in the post!). **

**Hope you like :)**

Part 3

Under present circumstances, Connor decided the best thing for him to do would just be to shower and get the **hell **out of there. He washed the mud/chocolate combination out of his hair and concentrated extremely hard on using the **perfect **amount of conditioner, and rinsing **every **scrap of shampoo out of his hair. Once he'd moved on to scrubbing mud off of his shoulders, and chocolate off of his chest he was feeling marginally more in control. Since Ryan's little comment, there had been nothing from his two neighbours but normal showering sounds. To be honest, Connor couldn't even be sure that the Professor was in on it…perhaps he was just an innocent party to Stephen's little games. Recalling the Scottish moan from earlier, Connor sighed. Or perhaps he was just hoping in vain that Cutter wasn't in on it, so that at least he wasn't outnumbered even if Stephen appeared to have taken it into his head to torture him.

With a huge sigh of relief, Connor rinsed off the last of the soap and dirt, and reached for his towel. Safe! He was safe! He could run home with Abby and forget this ever happened! He wrapped a towel around his waist and reached out to turn the shower off…CLICK. Huh? That was…that was…shit…**that was** the sound of Stephen's shower door opening. Clearly he had finished first and was going to change. Connor contemplated going out into the changing room and having to be in the same space as a damp, mostly naked Stephen. Safe to say it was a very brief contemplation.

With an internal groan, he un-wrapped the towel, hung it back up and stepped under the spray again. He'd have to wait it out. He decided that the dirt under his fingernails really needed some attention.

Surely Nick would be done soon as well? He really didn't have the Professor pegged as someone who spent ages in a bathroom. Perhaps finally his luck was turning? Perhaps they were **both **going to finish and change and get the hell out of there. Which would leave him the entire empty, **safe **changing room. He dismissed a slight pang of something that could possibly maybe have been disappointment, and concentrated every inch of his brain on his thumbnail, completely ignoring how good Cutter's shower gel smelt.

KNOCK KNOCK.

Huh?

'Hey, Cutter?'

Odd really, how Stephen still mainly used the Professor's surname even though they were…censor that thought. Quickly.

There was a questioning grunt from the cubicle to his right.

'Lemme in.'

Ohhh no. Ohhhh no.

'I need you to do my back. Can't reach round far enough.'

What? What kind of a question was **that**? What man of over seven couldn't wash his **own back**? And what really, did that matter? Because with another loud CLICK, Cutter appeared to be granting Stephen access. Apparently he was in on it after all.

Oh shit. It would appear that he wasn't going to survive this encounter. He was officially going to self-combust from a combination of embarrassment and lust.

Connor briefly considered making a run for it. Just leaving the shower cubicle, grabbing his clothes and finding somewhere safe to change with a lock on the door. But the part of his brain that still wanted to pretend this wasn't happening rebelled against the idea. He was officially frozen to the spot.

There was a half-stifled moan from the cubicle next door. And shit, if his mind, still handcuffed to the gutter, wasn't cheerfully filling in the visionary blanks to match the soundtrack. He could actually see the pair, blond hair against dark, Stephen slightly taller, pressing Cutter back into the wall, the water cascading down over them, thrusting together…

'Oh f-uck it…Cutter '

The word was broken, and Stephen's voice was throaty and deeper than normal, and Connor's brain was fast re-working it's ideas about who, so to speak, wore the pants in that relationship, and was offering graphic footage of Cutter on his knees, hands on Stephen's hips, pushing him back against the wall, completely in control, and still the water was running, tracing patterns over both of their skin…

Connor took a very deep breath, which he was sure they must have heard, and gripped the base of his cock very, very hard. He actually refused to come to the sounds of his boss and his boss' lab technician doing whatever it was they were doing. It was voyeuristic, immoral, insane and god, it was really, really hot. Resisting the urge to thump his head against the shower wall, he spun the temperature dial to arctic, put the shower on full, and began listing every Cretaceous Era reptile and its diet of choice that he could think of.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Connor finally left the changing rooms. He had stood under the cold water for a good forty minutes after Cutter and Stephen had finally left. The bastards had been laughing, and joking, chatting about the day's anomaly, and speculating about the strange Welsh bloke. They had appeared completely normal, as if they hadn't just had sex in a shower with Connor listening in, and he was **certain **that they were doing it all on purpose to confuse him.

When his unruly hormones were finally back under control, Connor had exited the shower, dressed and was now creeping down a corridor in a way that, he hoped, might perhaps look completely normal, and keeping every sense he had strained to check for Cutter/Stephen sightings. He just wanted to find Abby and get the hell out of there. He then planned to spend the entire evening working out how he was ever going to look Cutter in the eye and call him Professor again, without it sounding like some dirty nickname. (His brain supplied images of Stephen calling Cutter that, which, at present, was entirely unhelpful).

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was past Lester's offices and the science labs. If the two of them were going to be lurking anywhere it would have been there. He approached the corner of the last corridor, that led to the lobby, feeling much more confident. He could wait for Abby in the car.

He swung around the corner, and almost stopped in his tracks. Cutter was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, head leant back against the glass, and eyes shut, and Stephen was languishing against the wall, apparently trying to prop it up.

Desperately scanning the room, Connor felt a lurch of relief as he spotted Abby pacing. She swung round when she heard his footsteps, the look on her face pure exasperation.

'**Jesus, **Connor, what have you been **doing**? My yoga class started five minutes ago, and now I'll only catch the end bit at best after I've dropped you off!'

Stephen shifted suddenly against the wall, and Connor suddenly had a really bad feeling. He looked at Nick, who was looking at Stephen, and watched with a vague feeling of excited apprehension, as Nick's eyes registered confusion, and then a flash of understanding, and then just **pure **evil. Him and Stephen turned to Abby simultaneously, and as Stephen smiled and opened his mouth, Connor got the feeling he was doomed. Stephen's smile radiated innocence and benevolence and all things good, and he clapped a matey hand onto Connor's shoulder.

'Don't worry Abby. You go to your yoga class. Nick and I can take Connor home.'


End file.
